


Black Roses

by EscapedRabbitBlueBell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bit of recreational drug use, Abduction, Angst, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, John being caring and a father-figure, Loss of Relative(s), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EscapedRabbitBlueBell/pseuds/EscapedRabbitBlueBell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katy's mother has been reported missing on her 16th birthday. She gives it her all to find her mum again, because nothing is not an option. Then she meets a certain consulting detective and army doctor, she gets thrown in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arriving in London

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I've chosen not to use warnings. If you're unsure about the tags, don't read or please be careful with what you're reading.
> 
> All of the written chapters so far have been beta-d by 'jack63kids'. Thank you so much.

My father died when I was five years old. Mum said he was using drugs and alcohol at the same time, and that was fatal for my dad. Although I can't remember him very well, I never thought he was an alcoholic or an addict. It seemed weird, but I never doubted my mother: why would she lie? I mean, she had known him for over twenty-five years and probably knows him better than anyone else in this world. I know they were close: they went to primary school together.

I always thought that was sweet. You know one person for about your whole lifetime, and you marry him and give birth to his and your child. That's true love, isn't it? I've always looked up to my mother and father: they were and will always be my models. But something has changed, and I don't like it very much. No, I don't like it all.

I am carrying a big and obviously over-packed bag on my back, because of the Change. Yes, it deserves capitals. I'm heading for the 21:25 train from Cardiff to London. I've bought the tickets already, and yes, there is the train already. I'm taking a seat on the left side of the train and it's not that busy. I have expected the train to be packed full, since I always have bad luck. I put my bag on the seat next to me and I close my eyes.

Aunt Patty, she lives in Cardiff: I had visited her, didn't know anything about my mother. I figured as a sister of my mum, she has to know something, right? That would be logical, but unfortunately, there isn't any logic in my life since last week.

Aunt Patty is a fifty-three years old, eight years older than my mum. She is kind of tubby, but the nicest woman I ever knew. Aunty is single, but has no intention to be in a relation. She is quite happy with her flock of sheep. You could tell she was beautiful in her younger years. She still is actually, if she would lose the weight. She has blonde, wavy hair that reaches to her neck. Patty and my mother are very close, so I suspected she had to know something. But no, Patty was surprised to see me and was a little put off guard when I told her what happened. She offered me food and a place to spend the night. Naturally, I had accepted that offer.

Now, a day later, I'm on my train to London. I figured there was something to find there, because mummy was on a trip to said place, a month before she disappeared. That's right, she disappeared. Nowhere to be found on this world planet. At least, not yet. I am searching for her, all over Britain. I started in my hometown: Ledbury. All of our family friends knew nothing. They were always a bit startled if I told them, and of course, they were concerned about me. Now that my mother disappeared and my father is dead, nobody is taking care of me. Well, that's not entirely true. I take care of myself, and I am succeeding so far.

Of course, concern is absolutely logical and an entirely rational feeling towards me, but I find it unnecessary. I've had a job since I was fourteen, and I've saved since. I could always look after myself when I would buy things such as clothing. Of course, like every sixteen year-old girl, I love shopping, it's just that I could keep my under control while wandering around the shops. I've never used ridiculous things as make-up, I find them extremely annoying. Then again, I'm too lazy to put it on every single morning.

Of course, you would expect me to cry when I found out about the Change. The truth is, I haven't cried since eight years ago, when my dad died. I find that confusing, because Aunt Patty did cry, and she wasn't even there when my mom disappeared. I think it's just not sinking in, yet.

I place myself on a bench, right under a tree, after I wandered around London for a bit. After reading a sign, I know that I am in Regent's Park. It wasn't till I sat down on the bench, using my bag as a pillow, that I realized I was exhausted. I remind myself that I haven't slept very much since last week, and this was the time to do it: it had became dark already. I move around until I find myself in a comfortable position, and let myself sleep a little.

Unfortunately, I couldn't sleep for very long. At least, it didn't felt that way. I hear police sirens and see blue lights everywhere. I open my eyes and force myself to look up, and see that there are a couple of police cars almost 10 meters away from me.

I felt excited, because I've never been at or been nearby a crime scene before. Curiosity won, and I carry my bag on my back again. I walk over to the scene and I see a woman with dark curly hair standing. "I'm sorry, you can't pass through."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is it a problem for me to stand here, though? I've never been so close to a crime scene." I said, with a puppy-dog smile.

I saw a taxi stopping nearby, and I hear the dark-haired woman groan. As she did this, my curiosity begins to grow. A tall man with a long coat, dark curly hair and with beautiful cheekbones stepped out of the cab. On the other side of the car, another man did the same. Only he was a little shorter, maybe as tall as my dad - if I remembered him, with blonde hair and took steady strides. He seemed kind of… military? Could you be military? I don't know, and I couldn't think of about it for long, because the tall man was talking to me.

"You, yes, you. You are not a homeless person. Nor a runaway. You have money, a lot actually for your age, since you were on the train today. But why would you be here, if you weren't?" The man said, the question clearly to himself. He said it looking a bit confused, and observing me at the same time.

"Let her alone, freak. She clearly doesn't want to talk to you." The woman said with an annoyed tone, but the man ignored her.

"That's because I didn't run away," I said, with a smile. I found it quite amusing that the man would find me interesting, but couldn't figure me out. To be honest, I was a bit startled to hear that he knew I was on the train today, but I decided I wouldn't give any attention to that.

"Err, Sherlock. The case?" The blonde man asked who clearly was surprised that the tall man found me interesting. Sherlock. That's a weird name.

"The body will not go anywhere, John. Plus, this case is only a six."

"I am, in fact, a homeless person. But –" I was cut off by a man with grey hair.

"Sherlock! I need you inside, now, " the grey-haired man said, and almost immediately the blonde and the tall man walked over to him. The tall dark-haired man shot a short glance at me, though, before moving. I smirked and walked away, but stopped when the woman said something to me.

"Hey, girl. Do you need a place to stay, tonight?" She hesitated at first, but that melted away when she saw my appreciative – at least, I hope it looked appreciative – smile.

"Yes, please."

I took dad's hand when we walked over to our house again. We were laughing, and I hugged my mom when I smelled cookies. She let me choose a cookie and turned on the television for me, as I sat on the couch. My dad suddenly sat next to me and caressed a hand through my hair. I was laughing until I felt another hand, but that one was on my lower back. I didn't like the feeling: it wasn't a caring touch, it was a needy touch. It became worse and worse and I heard whispers in my ear.

"Why are you laying on the couch, babe? Well, I don't mind a little change."

I open my eyes and see eyes that were unfamiliar to me. I screamed as I jumped off the couch, as the other man screamed at my reaction. He had black hair and to be fair, he looked quite stupid.

"You are not Sally!"

"No, obviously. Who are you?"

"I... No, who are you?" He tried to say it calmly, but he clearly was trying to control himself.

"I'm Katy."

"And what are you doing in Sally's house?"

"Well, I'm homeless and Sally invited me to her house for one night." I confessed, almost whispering. "She said I could sleep on the couch, but she had to do some paperwork before she could come home."

"Right…" He said cautiously, observing me. I felt his eyes gliding over me, and coughed in reaction. I wasn't comfortable with him, at all. If he would be here at this time, he would stay all night. I decided that I didn't wanted to be comfortable, so I grabbed my stuff, put it in my bag and grabbed my coat.

"Will you thank Sally for me? She's nice, you're lucky to have her as your wife." I said, when I noticed his wedding ring. Why did he blush while I said that? Weird… Well, he was a weird man.

Then, of course: just my luck, it began to rain. I put my coat on, and went outside while the weird man was standing in the doorway. Just when I stood outside saying my goodbye, Sally stood in front of me.

"I'm sorry, I have to go." I said hastily, not sure what to say to her.

She brought her hand up to her head, to scratch it, I thought I couldn't put much thought in to it, because then I saw: she wasn't wearing any wedding ring. There was no tan line and no ring on the other hand either.

"My god! You sick, sick people!" I was almost screaming, but to be fair: they deserved it. It was disgusting, nobody deserves to be cheated on. I almost ran away, if I wasn't wearing that bloody heavy back.

I'm not sure it was the rain, but I think I saw a boy, yes, I definitely saw a boy. But it wasn't the boy, which was weird. It was what he did: he snapped a couple of pictures of me and Sally, well, I wasn't sure. The boy confirmed my doubt when he saw that I saw him, he immediately ran away. I knew I couldn't catch him, so I just yelled.

"Hey! Why do you run away?"

No reaction.

"Please! Stop! I don't know where I am, could you at least tell me that?"

He was at the corner, when he stopped. He hesitated at first, but then walked over to me.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Katy."

"I know."

The boy wasn't really a boy, anymore. I found him rather attractive, although he was soaked. His brown hair was the colour of chocolate, his eyes were... wait, were they green or grey? He was a bit taller than I am, his clothes were not expensive, even Katy could tell that with her bad taste for them.

"What's your name?"

There was that doubt again. He was working for someone, obviously.

"Jamie."

"Hi, Jamie. Do you know where I am, or possibly could sleep?"

Smart move, Katy. He was already hesitating if he could talk to me, and I'm pushing him. He turned away, but stopped when I put a hand on his arm.

"No, wait! I'm sorry. Is there anything you could do to help me?"

"Er, yes, actually. You need to come to 221B Baker Street tomorrow. Doesn't matter when: just come, okay?" He smiled, and then walked away while I stared at him until I couldn't see him anymore.

I walked away, trying to find a dry spot or a bench I could sleep or sit on. I decided that I would go in the morning towards this so-called '221B Baker Street'.


	2. 221B Baker Street

My back ached. I decided that from now on, I won't sleep on park benches anymore. My back wasn't the only place that hurt. In the middle of the night there was a homeless man, trying to steal something out of my back. I kicked him in his belly – that was unfortunate, if I would've aimed lower, he'd have been immediately knocked out – and he gave me a black eye in return. Well, I thought it was might be a black eye, since it was hurting like hell.

I did get some a couple of hours – they felt like hours – of sleep, though. That was rather fortunate, I thought. I had a feeling that I'd need some rest, before going to 221B Baker Street.

Since I went to London, I had a couple of strange encounters. I have been woken up by two strange men, one with bad intentions for me and one with really bad intentions. I've seen a crime scene and there were two peculiar men. One seemed to have a warm, golden heart and the other seemed cold and distant. The latter seemed to know everything about me, in one look. How he had done that is a mystery to me. I had stayed a couple of hours at a house of a stranger. The woman invited me over for the whole night, which I was supposed to do, but I didn't want to stay in that house with that creepy man any longer. First, he almost assaulted me and secondly I'd discovered that the woman and the man were having an affair! If my boyfriend or girlfriend would ever cheat on me, I'd go crazy. And when I'd left, I got photographed by a young bloke called 'Jamie', if I could believe him. I think I can trust him, he seemed nice enough. I think I can safely go to the place he said I must go.

However, I do feel guilty about yelling at Sally. The woman seemed very nice and had offered me a place to stay for the night. A normal, plain person wouldn't do that. As much as I liked her, she deserved it. The man absolutely deserved it, no question about that. I can't imagine why such a woman as pretty as her, would be dating - well, 'dating' - a married man.

And now, I've got the feeling that this absurdity wouldn't end soon. No, quite the opposite. '221B Baker Street' had something in its name that reminded me of a movie or something like that. It was a typical 'it will roll out of your mouth'-name.

I grabbed my mobile phone out of my pocket and checked what time it was. Yes, I have a mobile phone. I may be homeless, but I'm not poor in any way. No, not at all: my Dad had a very rich family, and Mum and I inherited the money when Dad died. Even though we've had a lot of money, we lived a simple life, in a simple house, in a simple town. I've worked as well, I thought it was my responsibility to earn money for myself. If I was depending on my parents all my life, I couldn't live a nice life. And I proved I was true: if I hadn't worked for almost two years of my life, I wouldn't be here right now. I would be in my plain, old and boring home doing nothing and be depressed about my mother.

I felt as if I had a purpose now: it didn't matter to me if it was for a whole lifetime or a couple of weeks to discover the truth about my mother's disappearance. Did she go it on her own, or was she kidnapped? If she was kidnapped, I would've got a note or something like that to pay an amount of money, right? But why would she disappear on her own decision by choice, she had me right? She didn't want to actually leave me, right? God, it was so annoying and frustrating to have so much questions and no answers!

Anyway, it was 6:13 AM. God knows how I did sleep - or better: tortured myself - on that park bench for that long. My battery should have no battery charge within the next thirty minutes, though. Great. I hope I can get my phone to charge up in 221B Baker Street, I thought. I asked a nice woman the way to Baker Street, apparently: I was only one turn to the left away. So, I crossed the street and searched for '221B'. I found it rather easily and to my disappointment, I began to hesitate. Was it really smart to do this, Kate? Will this help to find your mother? For all I know, I could be kidnapped.  
I decided that I'd nothing to lose, since both of my parents were gone. Well, I wasn't certain about my mother: she had only disappeared. It was likely, though. Strangely enough I found that rather satisfying. God no, I don't want my mum to be gone: I only wish I knew what happened to her.

I knocked. Almost immediately, an old woman appeared on the doorstep.

"Yes, dear?" she asked, with a friendly tone.

"Er, my name is Katy. I was told to get here in the morning."

"Oh, you must've come for Sherlock. Come inside, dear. Aren't you cold? You're wearing a jacket that was meant to be worn in the summer: not now, it is autumn, silly!"

Sherlock? Well, that was predictable. He found her interesting: of course he wanted a person to follow her around London. And then I smiled: if I had a grandmother, I would want her to be my granny. I never had a grandmother or grandfather, but that's a story for later. She was so loving and caring and she had known me for... what? Thirty seconds? I thanked her and went inside.

"Upstairs, dear, I'll come right away."

I followed her instructions and opened the door. The first thing I noticed was how messy the room was. A grown man who lived here - certainly a man who was looking so neat and fashionably - could just clean up a room, right? Apparently not. The older woman was in the room too and went to the kitchen while I took my enormous bag off and placed it next to the sofa. I sat down as I studied the room. Wow, I thought, I'd really missed good comfort.

"Do you want a cuppa, Katy?"

"Yes please."

She put the kettle on and saw my bag.

"Do you travel? You look quite young to do that, you know," she said, with a slight concern in her voice.

"I guess you could say that, yeah," I said, trying to hide the sadness in my voice.

"My son traveled around the world. He's in a better place now."

"Where is he now?" I asked, not taking the hint. God, I am so stupid sometimes.

"He's dead," she said, as she gave me my cup of tea.

"Oh god. I'm so sorry! I can be very ignorant, I'm so sorry. My condolences."

"Don't worry, dear. I got my revenge." She smiled softly. She continued while I took sips of my tea. "Sherlock and John are on a case now, I think. I don't know when they are coming home again, they are so unpredictable sometimes."

My eyebrows raised. Sherlock... and John? That was the blonde man from the crime scene yesterday. Were they gay? They certainly didn't look gay. But then again, I'd absolutely no knowledge about relationships.

"Oh, you're wondering if they are a couple? I honestly don't know." I tried to suppress a yawn, while she talked. "Am I boring you, dear? I'm sorry, I'll go downstairs."

"No, not at all!" I said hastily as she stopped walking. "I just had a rough night... that's all."

"I understand, dear. Try to rest." She smiled and closed the door.

I heard footsteps going down the stairs while I leaned back. God, I didn't know I could miss comfort this much. I drank my cup of tea and lied down onto the couch. I closed my eyes and let myself sleep a little.

I was in the middle of a nice dream - about a world made of candy, indeed: it was nice - when I felt I was being poked in the chest, near the collarbone. I opened one eye slowly, only to see another man - the man called Sherlock, this time - kneeled in front of me. He had a concentrated, careful and observing look in his eyes: I felt like I was the only teenager he had seen in his life. I tried to suppress a giggle - I found it rather hilarious to be woken this way - but it failed. The man stood up, still having his gaze on me.

"I'm sorry you have been woken this way, but it was this or shaking you." The voice was not from myself, nor from Sherlock. I sat on the couch and found from who the voice was coming from: the blonde man. He came out of the kitchen with two cups of tea in his hand. "Figured you might want a cup."

I smiled, accepting the offer. These people were generous, although they were weird. The blonde gave the other cup to Sherlock, as he sat on a chair to my right. John went back to the kitchen to get his own cuppa.

I took a sip as I saw my bag unzipped. I gestured to it and said, "Do you normally go through other people's bags without asking?" figuring Sherlock had done that, since he was the weird-one.

"Do you find sleeping on a couch in a stranger's flat normal?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Touché." I laughed. I put the cup of tea on the table, and searched for my charger in my bag. I found it rather easily in one of the pockets and plugged it in. Sherlock had still raised eyebrows as he was still looking at me. Meanwhile, John was sitting on the chair across from the chair Sherlock was sitting in.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll pay you back for whatever I use," I said, figuring he meant using the electricity without asking.

Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something, but John had already stopped him. "Be nice, Sherlock," he grumbled in response. I found that quite amusing. I observed the two of them.

"It's not that it's a problem for me but, are you two... gay?" I asked hesitantly.

"What? No, god, no!" John said, almost desperately. "We're flatmates."

"I see," I whispered as I put on a smirk. I found John's reaction cute, I figured this question was asked almost every week. I took a few sips from my tea as I noticed my smart phone was on again. I checked it to see if I had missed something. There were seven missed calls and two messages, all from Aunt Patty. Oh god, I had totally forgotten about her! She probably was worried like crazy, because I hadn't said anything to her about leaving. I decided that I'd call her in a few hours. There were two unseen Facebook messages, too.

"I'm sorry about your father." Sherlock suddenly said. If I'd be honest: I was startled. How could he know this stuff? As I looked up, I saw that John gave me a sympathetic look.

"Excuse me, how do you know about my dad?" I said, demanding an explanation.

"I saw a couple of photographs of you, your mother and your father - it could be an aunt and uncle but parents are more likely. You were not so old though, as you are now. Probably six or seven years ago. There are no other pictures with you, your mother and your father when you were older, that means one or both of them died. Since I've seen another picture with you and your mother at an older age, your father disappeared. He most likely died."

I flinched at the words 'disappeared' and 'died', and as a reaction Sherlock gave me a curious look. John looked like he could punch his flatmate. Sherlock shifted in his chair so that he faced me, and leaned forwards.

I swallowed. He knew something about me, I realized that, and I didn't like the thought of it. I didn't want to tell anyone about my past: I never had to.

The people who'd known about my past were a handful. I never talked about my dad's death, or mum's disappearance. I felt like I wasn't ready to tell anyone - let alone strangers - about it.

"Now, why won't you tell me what's going on for the past two weeks, and why you left Cardiff?"


	3. Staying

"What do you mean? You called me here," I said, trying to change the subject.

"Sherlock, what does she mean?" John said to Sherlock, who was still staring at me. I found it rather creepy. "Sherlock, answer me."

I couldn't help but smirk. John acted like a mum around Sherlock. At first I thought that they were in a relationship, but no: they're just friends. It was strange, because the dark-haired man didn't seem to have many friends. And the one who seemed like a friend, was acting like a mother towards him.

"I ordered Jamie to follow her," Sherlock absently said, like he was somewhere else in his mind. He suddenly took his gaze off me and took a sip from his tea.

"Don't waste our time: tell us what's going on." He tried again, more subtle than the last time. At least, he tried to be, but he didn't succeed.

I had two options, I thought. One, I could tell him everything or two, I could just walk away. I never told anyone about my past, not even my friends, why would I tell two strangers? What could he do about my mother? I knew he and his flat mate were in the police or something of the sort, since he was at the crime scene yesterday, but I didn't feel like going to the police. Aunt Patty informed the police about my mum's disappearance, but they didn't find anything in Ledbury, so they certainly wouldn't find anything here: in London.

"You know what? I don't have to tell you guys: why should I? Give me one, good reason." I tried to challenge them, but they seemed little impressed. Sherlock just gave me a look that looked like mockery and John gave me a sympathetic one, again. I was disappointed because I kind of expected an argument, but this gave me a reason to leave. "I thought so."

I thanked them for their hospitality. I grabbed my coat and put it on, zipped my bag and hastily took my phone out of the charger and put them both in my coat. I nodded towards the two of them, making eye contact and went down the stairs.

I realized I had overreacted before my foot hit the bottom step and I'm quite the drama queen, I know and admit that, but I really didn't want to tell a couple of strangers about my mum. Imagine: a man knows all about your day (and past, apparently) in one look, but one thing he didn't know. And that one thing was personal, so personal that I didn't even want to tell the police about that.

I had put my hand on the doorknob, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I flinched because I hadn't heard anything other than London's traffic outside. I saw that the hand belonged to John.

"Sherlock could help you: he's a consulting detective," he started slowly, and explained the term when he saw my confused look. "As you already know, he can deduce things about you in one look. He's incredibly intelligent and solved dozens of cases. If you're not ready to talk yet, then don't. We won't push you."

He paused as I took my hand off the doorknob, turned around – so far as I was possible to turn, because my gigantic bag – and kept my eyes fixed on my shoes. They were dirty, I noticed. Well, that wasn't surprising. I was still hesitating, they were still strangers, but John so far had been nice towards me.

"You're obviously traumatized and we want to help you. Don't go outside, you have no place to stay and you can sleep here on the sofa."

To be honest, I was touched. He was very nice indeed. He act like a mother to me – and as far as I'm concerned, no one could be compared to my mum – but as a father. I didn't remember my father very well, but John seemed to fill in a place where my father was supposed to be. I didn't know if I should be outraged or happy about that.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn't know what to say, so I closed it again. It seemed like forever: I stood there, thinking, with John's hand still at my shoulder.

John had been right, again, about leaving. If I had left, I probably would have felt like I couldn't go back ever, to 221B. It was wandering in around London, sleeping on park benches and fighting with homeless people, or sleeping on a sofa inside a flat. The latter one looked quite appealing.

I smiled as I made eye contact with John. He gave a warm smile back to at me as he took off my bag and carried for me. I climbed the stairs as I realized I liked the smell in this apartment. It smelt a bit of chemicals – no doubt it was from Sherlock – and warm: just like home.

I smiled as I walked through the door. Just like home. And then my smile faded, as I felt a shot of pain going through my body. I missed home. I missed my mum, and surprisingly, my dad. I missed their company, just knowing they were there. Well, Dad wasn't physically at home, but his spirit was. Mum kept things that belonged to my dad such as artwork and vases. I found Sherlock in the same place as when I left, staring at me. John took me out of my thoughts.

"You haven't told us your name yet," he said, kind of awkwardly, as he put my bag on the same spot as when I put it there an hour or two ago. "My name is John Watson and his name is Sherlock Holmes."

Just when I wanted to open my mouth to answer, Sherlock beat me to it.

"Don't be an idiot, John: she knows our names from yesterday at the crime scene. And her name is Katy Gibbs, you should know that."

"I don't know that because I'm not a genius like you and plus: you won't tell me anything." John snapped. I flinched: I had never expected to see such a kind man be so sharp.

"Kate will do." I smiled, recovering quickly.

"Do you want to shower, Kate?" John asked. I was not sure if I should be offended by that, but I nodded once I realized I longed for a hot shower.

"In the hallway, first door on your left. We have towels in there." I thanked him, taking my coat off and hanging it on the door, grabbed new clothes including underwear, and decided this was awkward.

Two grown man in the living room – what I considered now my bedroom as well – and I grabbed my clean knickers and a bra out of my bag! They were watching too: that was making it worse and worse. I felt my cheeks burning, and quickly went into the bathroom. I locked the door, considering the possibility of another embarrassing meeting with a man – only it wouldn't be that creep from Sally's this time, at least, I hoped.

Oh god, who's going to do their laundry? They would see my dirty underwear, whoever does it. Sherlock doesn't seem the type, and John looks far too busy. I have to take my chances and hope that the nice landlady from downstairs does it. I'll help her, of course.

I take my shirt off and notice my belly: it's flatter than it already was. I put my hand on said place, when my belly begins to rumble. I would eat after I showered, I thought, so I ignored it. I took off all my clothes and put them in the laundry basket, and stepped in the shower. It was a struggle to find the right temperature, but I found it satisfying after I accomplished my mission. The time passed by, at least, that's what I thought. It could be five minutes, or easily fifteen. I enjoyed every second of the nice, hot shower and rubbed away all the dirt from my skin.

After I had dried myself and had put on my clothes, I felt the nice feeling of cleanliness. For a homeless girl – well, currently I have a place to stay, but I'm officially homeless since I've abandoned my house – I think I look quite fancy.

I've put on plain blue jeans, loose green top and a black cardigan. My brown boots should be somewhere in my bag… I'd bought those with my mum: she thought they were really nice. That was the main reason I bought them, well: they were on sale, too, but let's pretend shall we?

I got out of the bathroom to find John and Sherlock sitting in their chairs, both having a laptop on their laps. John had apparently had a blog, as I saw 'the blog of Dr. John Watson' on the top of the website. Doctor? Wow.

I began searching for a hairbrush in my bag. I haven't brushed my hair in one and a half days, and god knows how I'm going to tame my long, wavy, golden-brown hair. After five minutes, I still hadn't found it. Sherlock gave me annoyed looks and John what-the-hell-are-you-doing-ones as I muttered words that would probably have made my mum embarrassed.

"What are you doing?" John finally said.

"I am searching for my hairbrush."

"Maybe Mrs. Hudson has one."

"Who's that?"

"The landlady," Sherlock muttered annoyed, as if that was a question spoke for itself.

"She lives downstairs, I assume?"

John smiled, which I took as a positive answer. I climbed down the stairs, knocking on Mrs. Hudson's door. After about two minutes, the older woman opened the door.

"Oh, hello, dear!"

"Hello," I smiled, absolutely adoring her kindness. I wish I could have that quality, "I left my hairbrush at home, I was wondering if I could borrow yours if you have one?"

"I think so, come on in while I search for it for you."

I accepted her offer and was overwhelmed by the smell of freshly baked apple-pie. My belly rumbled in response, I'd totally forgotten about being hungry. God only knows how a plain person like me could forget that.

"You want some of the apple-pie? I just sliced a piece for myself, take that one, dear. I'll be there in one minute." I heard, she was probably in her bathroom or bedroom searching for a hairbrush.

I walked over to the kitchen: with every step I took, my belly ached. I took the slice, that was already on a plate with a fork on it, and put it on the table in the kitchen. As I sat down, Mrs. Hudson entered the kitchen with a red hairbrush.

"Thank you," I said with a smile.

"It's really nothing, Kate. Did you try the pie?"

We had a little chitchat for about an hour and she confirmed that she really was a kind and loving person. After I had brushed my hair, I thanked her and said goodbye.

I walked into the living room, to find the grown men talking about some murder with a cuppa. I smiled in response to John's greeting. I found it rather annoying, yet amusing, that Sherlock wouldn't give any greeting at all except for a stare. What was it with this man that he only stared at me? He only talked to me when he demanded something.

"Oh, Kate, I almost forgot. What do you want for dinner? We're having a take-out." John asked.

"Er, everything is fine by me. Should I go with you?" I found it necessary to help John, Mrs. Hudson or even Sherlock during my stay. I hastily put my brown boots on.

"If you'd like that, yes. I'm going to the Chinese, now." John stood up from his chair and put his coat on. He gave me my black coat and I put it on as well. I grabbed my phone and put it in my pocket.

We walked down the stairs and turned a couple of times. We didn't really talk much, but it was a comfortable silence.

"So, you are a doctor?" I asked, trying to start a conversation. He gave me an impressed look. "I saw your blog title."

"Oh," he laughed, "yes, an army doctor in fact. Got shot in the shoulder, though. I was send home."

"Bugger," I said, not knowing what else to say, "Why are you, an ex-army doctor, keeping a blog, though?"

"My therapist recommended it. I had nothing to write about, until I met Sherlock. He solves cases all the time, and I write about it."  
"I should check it out sometime," I said, he gave me a smile in response.

I hadn't even noticed that we were there already, when John walked into a place that certainly looked Chinese. We ordered shrimps fried rice for two persons.

"Is Sherlock not going to eat anything?"

"He doesn't eat while he's on a case. It slows him down, he says. I force him, though. If-" My mobile phone cut him off. I saw that Aunt Patty was calling.

"I'm sorry, I have to get this," I apologized, he nodded in response. I walked outside while I picked up the phone.

"Katy."

"Katy! Thank goodness! Why were you ignoring my calls? Where are you now? Do you know how I concerned I was?" Patty attacked me with her questions. It took a while to respond.

"There's nothing to worry about, Auntie. My phone ran out of charge. I'm in London now, I have somewhere to stay. I'm sorry I hadn't said anything. "

"What?! Why are you in London? I want you to come back, now!" As her high-pitched voice was echoing in my ear, I could see John with a white plastic bag coming outside.

"I… No, I won't. I have shelter. Don't worry, I'm in safe hands. I'll call you another time, I have to go now."

"Katy! Don't you da-" I gave John an innocent smile.

"Ready?" he asked, steady but unsure.

"Of course."

The rest of the walk had been silent, John of course wondering who the hell I was talking to.


	4. Happiness(?)

So apparently, it is possible for me to sleep longer than eight o'clock. I was always an early riser, so this was rare to me. I looked at the clock and realized I slept over eleven hours. Wow, there must be something wrong with me. I smirked, as I didn't know that. Mum always teased me how strange I was... God, I miss her.

I miss her pancakes in the early morning, her smile as she gave them to me, her smell and warmth when she hugged me... Deep down, I knew that it'd take a long time before I could hug her again. Today would be a good day to search for any clues of her stay, I decided. But how the hell would I do that? I can go to the police, but they wouldn't let me do anything and they wouldn't find anything. I could go to the library, as she always loved books, but what would I find there? It'd be pointless.

I sighed dramatically. There'd be nothing I could do! Maybe Sherlock 'the consulting detective' could do anything. I must admit, he was smart because he knew I was on the train, and he knew about my father. That was rather disturbing, I really didn't want him to know that. And if I did, I would tell him myself. I knew I should tell Sherlock and John about my mum sometime, but I didn't feel quite comfortable yet. It wasn't that they were nice, well, John was, Sherlock didn't seem to know about kindness and personal space.

Where were they, actually? I was sleeping on the couch: I would see them if they were awake. Sherlock didn't like to sit in his room all day, John said to me yesterday, so he should sit in the living room or in the kitchen. Since I hadn't heard anything, I thought they weren't here. And I guess I was right.

Sherlock wasn't really a sleeper, too. So he sat most of the night on his chair, that means I was sleeping when he was present. I didn't know if I would like that. He would do experiments when he was bored. By other words, when he didn't have a case. He'd probably do experiments at me, John said, as I was the only teenager he'd probably see most of the time for the next couple of weeks.

That scared me: what the hell would he do to me? I hope he wouldn't give me any drugs or pour chemicals on me, or something like that. Although science interested me, I wasn't really good at it.

Oh god, school. Well, since I'm sixteen I don't have to go to school, but I know it wouldn't be good for me and mum will be disappointed in me. I knew that for sure. School had already started, but since my mum disappeared I didn't feel the need - to be honest: I didn't even thought of it once - to go to school. Mum seemed more important. Education was something I needed, though, especially since I didn't know what I'd do later. I always thought I wanted to be in the police, but it could be really lame. Military was a possibility for me, too. I should ask John about that.

I wasn't really a girl who pictured her future, and if everything went wrong, that girl would panic. No, I wasn't like that at all. I was more of a spontaneous girl, I loved when something surprised me. And since I am in London, everything surprised me. That knew my mum, too, apparently. My birthday was on a Friday, my mother invited my friends to come to a local restaurant. My mum told me to come there at seven as well, as she 'had to work late'. So, long story short, my mum and friends surprised me. It was a happy day, until...

I didn't want to finish that thought. It was too hurtful to talk, even think, about. I knew I had to tell John and Sherlock about mum, but, I don't know... I trust them, I really do, I felt comfortable around here too. Around London, around 221B Baker Street.

So anyway, I checked the cabins to probably expect to find any products I can use to make pancakes. I even checked the microwave, only to find human eyes floating in some sort of fluid in a jar made of glass. I screamed, and it didn't take long for Mrs. Hudson to rush upstairs.

"What's wrong dear?" She asked, her voice full with concern, walking over to me.

"Are these human eyes?" I asked in full disgust.

"Ah," She laughed - strangely enough (sarcasm included): I found that discomforting -, "Sherlock tends to use human parts as an experiment. It happens all the time."

I grabbed the jar and put it on the table. I found it discomforting, disgusting, sickening, but I also found it extremely fascinating. You see eyes in their 'case', with eyelids and eyelashes and everything. I now saw a jar full of white balls, that used to sit in people's heads. I slapped myself internally, when did I ever think this way? I'm only here for a day, and I think a couple of eyes in a jar are fascinating. I put them back in the microwave as Mrs. Hudson asked me something.

"Did you already have breakfast, dear?"

"Er, no, actually. I was searching for products I could make pancakes with, but I got... distracted." I answered, not finding any good words to fill that sentence with.

"I was just on my way to go to the supermarket, would you like me to take some ingredients with me?"

Honestly, this woman was a saint.

"I'll go with you, if you don't mind, it's the least I could do." I answered, with a smile, "I only need to dress myself, and then I'll be down.".

She smiled back at me, muttered 'of course, dear' and left the kitchen.

I hastily grabbed some clothes, went to the bathroom to shower, and dressed myself. I put on my coat, grabbed my smart phone and then I went downstairs. I knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door and we were outside in the next minute. We talked a bit, until we arrived at the supermarket. We did our shopping in thirty minutes - five minutes spend Mrs. Hudson on 'should I buy more milk or not?'. I carried three of the bags, while the older woman carried the least heavy one. "I got my hip," she explained.

I was thinking, when I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. I snapped my head to the left only to find a smiling Jamie.

"Hi Kate."

He seemed honestly happy to see me, and I must say: I'm happy to see him as well. He wasn't soaked this time - luckily, neither was I -, and that made him only prettier. His chocolate-brown hair was lighter now, and I still couldn't decide whether his eyes were green or grey.

"Hey," I smiled, a little surprised by seeing him.

"Er, how are you?" He asked, a little awkwardly.

"I'm fine, and you?" I said since didn't exactly know what else to say to him.

"Er, I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out," he said, still awkward but it wasn't there anymore when he saw my smile that was just made bigger by me, "sometime.".

"I'm just heading back to 221B Baker Street," his eyebrows raised, "to make pancakes. Care to come with me?"

"Yes," he grabbed two of the bags I was carrying, "let me carry that for you."

I laughed, dipped my fingertip in the pancake-mix and wiped the mix off on his nose.

We hadn't made much pancakes so far, actually, we made 4 of them, but every pancake had something wrong with it. Burned, greenish, with too many bits in it or just simply not cooked well enough. We were almost out of pancake-mix, because it was either used or on our faces. Scratch eating breakfast, I'd rather do this.

"You're going to regret that!" He yelled - only he wasn't really convincing trying to be aggressive: he smiled -, placing his hands at my thighs, and throwing me on his back. As a reaction I screamed and laughed at the same time. I realized I hadn't this much fun since my mum disappeared. Also, I realized - when I was trying to imagine how we'd look like if someone else saw us - that I was like a taco and he was the ingredients in it. I smirked at that thought. He was running towards the couch with me on his shoulder when we heard a cough.

I looked up, but couldn't see anything because Jamie turned around. I felt Jamie's muscles tighten when he put me back on the ground. I straightened my shirt, blushed and coughed awkwardly.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes." Jamie greeted, not in a happy way, more in a disappointed and 'I've been caught'-way.

I gave him a strange look. Mr. Holmes? That certainly wasn't Sherlock. I didn't think of the possibility he might have family. So what was he to Sherlock? He was too young to be a father to the detective, so most likely to be a brother, then. Although, they hadn't much similarities.

"Good day, Mr. Smith. Would you mind, I'd like to have a word with Miss Gibbs." The man standing in the doorway said, in a demanding voice. I think he's done that a lot, at least, it sounded that way.

I wanted to stop Jamie as he walked away, but something held me from that. If Jamie was leaving me with this man, it meant that he trusted him. I didn't trust the man yet, in his fancy grey suit and blue tie, but it was good enough for me. And if something did happen, Jamie knew who was last with me.

"Better to turn that off, Miss Gibbs." He said, as he pointed with his umbrella - really? The man didn't seem to be like Mary Poppins - towards the kitchen. I realized that the stove was still on and practically run towards it to turn it off. When I came back, the man sat in the chair Sherlock sat in most of the time.

"What do you want?" I asked, not trying to be rude but it came out of my mouth that way, while I leaned against the wall nearby the door.

"Please sit down, Miss Gibbs," as he gave me an observant look, he continued, "We don't want you to stay here all day and do nothing with your free time, such as... entertaining yourself."

As he instructed, I sat down at John's chair. I felt a little awkward when he said that last bit.

"So?"

"We want you to go to school. We know it's the best for you, and you're a smart-looking young woman: you know that too."

"We?"

"John doesn't want you to sit all day at Baker Street. And I wanted to see you for myself."

"I'm sixteen, I don't have to go to school."

He gave me a stern look as response. My irritation towards the man grew - I recognized it as anger if it worsened. First, he interrupts Jamie and I and then he just commands me to go to school?

"Who the hell do you think you are? You can't control me, I don't even who you are!"

"Ah, Mycroft, commanding like always, are we?" My head snapped towards the door so fast, I almost wondered if I hadn't broken my neck. Sherlock and John were standing in the doorway, Sherlock undoing his scarf as I looked at them both.

"Hello, dear brother." Mycroft said.

I didn't even noticed any noise that came from the stairs, so it was an understatement when I said I was surprised. Sherlock observed me as well when he took his jacket off. John gave me a look as well, but I couldn't decide which emotion it belonged to. John began to take his coat off. I watched the man in front of me again. He was staring into his brothers eyes and Sherlock did the same.

It seemed like there was a brother rivalry going on here. I imagined the two fighting about Action Man's or challenging each other to draw the prettiest painting. It was very hard to imagine the two as young kids, but somehow I pictured them into their blue pajamas with teddy-bears. I giggled at that thought, although I was still annoyed.

The three men all put their gaze on me. They all looked confused: trying to figure out what was so funny. I felt my cheeks grow hot as they stared at my. The only thing I did in response was looking down and coughing awkwardly.

I wondered if Jamie was waiting for me downstairs or at the street, but I figured he probably wasn't since he knew 'Mr. Holmes' and Sherlock. Still, I got the immense desire to peek down the window to check.

John suddenly walked over to the kitchen, I immediately followed him because I didn't want to be in the room with the two brothers anymore. I glanced over to the street but of course, I didn't see anything other than just taxi's, cars and people. John turned the kettle on and looked me in the eye when I stood next to him.

"You know..." I said, clearly with doubt in my voice because I didn't know what to say to him, "You should have asked me or at least informed me on what you were thinking."

"I know," he said as he took four teacups of the cabin, "But I texted Mycroft to be sure you are going to school. It's something you need and I wouldn't let you to sit around all day here in Baker Street. He could get you in a school, for sure. "

He stood in front of me while he said that. I smiled, he was really looking out for me. I hugged him and felt his arms around me.

"Thank you." I mumbled, probably loud enough for John to hear but I was almost hundred percent sure that the two brothers couldn't hear it.

"You're welcome."


End file.
